


Breathless

by SevereStorms, wreckingthefinite



Series: Full Disclosure [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Belly Kink, Curtain Fic, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Play, Feeding Kink, Fluff, Food Sex, Hand Feeding, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Stuffing, Weight Gain, chubby bucky, unwedding cake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 03:08:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7667872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SevereStorms/pseuds/SevereStorms, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreckingthefinite/pseuds/wreckingthefinite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>It was just mwestbelle/<a href="http://iwritetheweirdstuff.tumblr.com">I Write The Weird Stuff</a>'s birthday, and we love her, so of course a birthday fic was in order. She requested something with the lucky feedee being super spoiled and indulgent and pleased with himself, and what better combination to deliver on that request than <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6376219">Full Disclosure</a> Bucky & Steve?</p>
    </blockquote>





	Breathless

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mwestbelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mwestbelle/gifts).



> It was just mwestbelle/[I Write The Weird Stuff](http://iwritetheweirdstuff.tumblr.com)'s birthday, and we love her, so of course a birthday fic was in order. She requested something with the lucky feedee being super spoiled and indulgent and pleased with himself, and what better combination to deliver on that request than [Full Disclosure](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6376219) Bucky & Steve?

The cake is waiting for Steve when he drops into the bakery on his way home.

“It’s perfect, Alice,” Steve says to the woman behind the counter, peering through the cellophane window of the cake box. “You outdid yourself.” 

“So you’re doing this every year?” Alice asks. “Getting not-married, or whatever?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says. “Who can ever predict what’ll happen in a relationship? I just felt like celebrating.” 

“Ah. ‘The course of true love never did run smooth,’ right?” 

“Right. That is really, really true.” 

“Well, I, for one, hope you stay together forever. You let me know if you want another one next year. I’ve got a whole catalog, y’know, it doesn’t have to be vanilla-vanilla.” 

“I know. But vanilla’s Bucky’s favorite.” 

“Everything’s his favorite, bless him,” Alice says, which is true, and makes Steve’s spine tingle with a strange combination of embarrassment and arousal. It’s awkward sometimes, having something that feels so secret, so private, right out in the open. But then, it’s the corner bakery, and Steve reluctantly acknowledges to himself that they were never going to be able to keep certain things under wraps here. 

“You know us too well,” he says, smiling and picking up the cake box by its red, white, and blue ribbon. 

“Hard not to. Happy un-iversary,” Alice calls after him as he goes. 

* 

Steve’s heart is pounding by the time he walks through the door to the apartment. In the year since he and Bucky had moved in, they’d had to back off a little; sure, Bucky is what’s called nowadays “enhanced,” but he’s not completely indestructible, and the pace they’d set initially was impossible to maintain long-term.

Bucky had continued to gain weight, but slowly, and while food was still an inextricable part of their sex life, it wasn’t generally present in the huge quantities it had been when they’d first been reunited. 

But tonight’s a special occasion. 

“Bucky?” Steve calls. “Buck? I’m home.” 

“I’m in here,” Bucky calls back from the living room. 

Steve sets the cake down on the counter, walks through the connecting hallway toward the living room, and stops, taking in the sight of Bucky, unpacking takeout boxes onto the coffee table. 

The last time he’d stepped on the scale, the tinny mechanical voice had announced his weight at 330 pounds, and Steve’s sure he’s more than that, now. He has a real double chin, and when Steve wraps his arms around him, he can feel how soft and squishy his back is, has to lean over the massive swell of his round gut to kiss his chubby cheek. 

He’s gorgeous, and Steve loves him so much he can’t think about it directly without it taking his breath away. 

“You get the cake?” 

“Of course I did. You order dinner?” 

Bucky gestures at the stacked boxes. “Ready when you are,” he says. 

“I’m ready now,” Steve says instantly. He’s been waiting for this for weeks, watching Bucky prepare by eating just a little more than usual at every meal, building up his capacity. Steve had noticed the inevitable effects of this, the way Bucky’s lower belly has begun filling out, getting plumper, settling lower and rounder, spreading out just a little further into his lap when he sits down. Some of his newer shirts now ride up a little by dinner time, and he’s had to leave some of his jeans unbuttoned, or replace them altogether. 

He’s nothing at all like the slender, wraithlike assassin he’d been with Hydra; he’s huge, with a big, heavy belly, wide ass, and chubby arms that barely fit in the arms of his unbuttonable jacket. As they head to the sofa, Steve notices something else; Bucky’s starting to carry himself a little differently, too; he has a slight waddle to his walk, and one hand is always cradling his gut, always resting atop it, stroking it. 

Steve pushes Bucky down onto the sofa, which creaks a little under his weight, and straddles what’s left of his lap – no easy feat, competing with his belly for the necessary space. “You’re so big,” he says, nudging closer, finally letting his hands come to rest on the thick love handles, sliding them forward to caress Bucky’s round belly. 

“I know it,” Bucky says, gripping Steve ‘s ass and pulling him up flush against his soft gut, smiling as Steve licks his lips and flushes pink across his cheekbones. “Gonna get even bigger, if you’ll ever stop grinding all over my gut and feed me some damn dinner.” 

“Of course I’ll feed you some damn dinner,” Steve says, reaching for the first of the boxes. “Just remember to save room for dessert.” 

* 

Bucky settles back into the sofa and watches Steve’s face as he feeds him bite after bite of food, wondering how he ever got so lucky.

It all feels good, the warm weight of Steve in his lap, Steve’s hands massaging Bucky’s belly gently between courses, being cared for, indulged, and loved. It also feels good knowing he’s making Steve happy – and he can see that he is; Steve’s face is practically glowing as he lifts each forkful to Bucky’s lips, staring down at Bucky like he’s the best non-wedding present in the universe, just for eating dinner. Well, a few dinners. 

“That’s perfect, sweetheart,” he says, as he finishes chewing the last bite from the last takeout box. “You did so good, Stevie.” He shifts under the weight of Steve, and all the food he’s eaten, and his gut, trying to get a little more comfortable. “Gonna need a few minutes before we get started on the cake.” 

“Was it too much?” Steve asks, hands on the taut cotton fabric pulling across Bucky’s full tummy. “Want me to…” he plucks at the button straining over the crest of Bucky’s belly, and opens a small gap, slides his hand inside and presses down firmly. He’s gotten good at belly rubs, over the last year. 

“Is that good?” he asks, voice a little hoarse. 

“Yeah,” Bucky answers, as Steve pops another button and slides his other hand into Bucky’s shirt, rubbing warm palms over his skin, firm and gentle. “Yeah, that’s perfect, sweetheart, that’s – that’s real good.” He reaches up and tugs Steve’s head down to his, kisses him, and Steve’s hands forget what they were doing, his thighs tighten around Bucky’s, and Bucky can feel him, hard and hot, pressed up against his gut. 

It’s not easy, getting up off the sofa. He feels the button of his trousers go as he heaves himself up, and Steve must notice somehow because he wraps himself around Bucky and they stumble their way awkwardly toward the bedroom, stopping for the cake as they go. Bucky is full, just this side of _too_ full, but it feels right, on this special occasion, and he knows Steve will be only too happy to do all the work as long as Bucky can make some serious headway into that cake. 

*

Steve can’t hold back a little gasp when Bucky sits down on the edge of the bed, enormously fat tummy pillowing into his lap, soft skin peeking out between opened, gaping buttons across the widest part of his gut. He looks so damned _big_ , powerful body enveloped in softness and excess, and Steve doesn’t think it will ever get old, looking at Bucky. 

Bucky leans back, metal arm taking some of his weight, flesh hand stroking his distended belly. “My god, Rogers, are you gonna stand there panting or get that cake?” 

Steve swallows. “Cake.” He jerks his thumb toward the dresser, where the cake box is sitting, a single fork beside it. “But—baby, will you—take your shirt off, Buck. Lay back. Get comfortable.” He blushes a little, gesturing to the remaining buttons straining to pull not-enough-shirt over too-much-Bucky. 

Bucky’s grin is immediate, cocky and knowing. “That’s so sweet, baby, you worrying about my comfort,” he says, gray eyes sparkling, chubby cheeks dimpling. “Because of course that request has nothing to do with you bein’ a little pervert, wanting to watch me haul my fat ass back onto the bed, get my big fat belly out so you can get your hands on it.” His smile twists a little, one side of his mouth twitching up slightly higher than the other, a smirk that Steve remembers him aiming at every girl in the dance hall, a lifetime ago. “I’m sure you’re real worried about my comfort, Stevie.”

Steve stands there for a minute, just taking it all in as Bucky slips the rest of the buttons and struggles out of his shirt, revealing the enormously fat ball of his belly, the way it spills heavily over his newly button-less jeans. Steve has to shove his cock down with the heel of his hand when Bucky heaves himself back on the bed, propping himself up against the headboard, stroking a hand over his distended gut. 

“Can’t believe you want me to eat more, when I’m already stuffed so full I can barely catch my damn breath,” Bucky continues, his breath appropriately short just with the effort of getting comfortable, as Steve snatches up the bakery box and walks to the bed. “Already too damned fat, Steve, and you love it. Look what you’re doing to me.”

Steve smiles, partly because yeah, Bucky _is_ too fat and Steve _does_ love it, he’s almost vibrating with the need to push a forkful of rich, fattening wedding cake between Bucky’s full pink lips. But it’s also just because he loves it when Bucky’s like this, mouth running ceaselessly, a barrage of filthy talk pouring out of his pretty, pretty mouth. When he’d first come back, still more Asset than James Buchanan Barnes, he’d been nearly silent, big gray eyes watching Steve, tracking him across the room. Now—now he talks again, an incessant cocky stream of words, every bit as mouthy as the Brooklyn tough Steve remembers. 

“Just taking really good care of you, Buck,” Steve says softly, climbing up next to him and flipping open the ornate bakery box. The first bite he scoops up is enormous, mostly icing, and he holds it out for Bucky like an offering. 

“Uh huh.” Bucky snorts, metal hand pulling Steve’s hand forward the last inch toward his mouth, so that he doesn’t have to lean forward over his own bloated tummy. 

Steve nods, forking up another bite and pushing it between Bucky’s lips. “It’s true.” He reaches out with his free hand and lifts up Bucky’s tummy, grasping the fattest part of his stomach, the heavy bottom curve of it, where it rests on his thighs and takes up more than its share of real estate on his lap. “See? Taking good care of you.” 

They’re playing, of course, saying these things to each other—but then again Steve means it, a little, about taking care of Bucky. All their lives, nearly, Bucky has taken care of Steve. Before the war, when Steve was sick. Then after, when he’d shown up on Steve’s doorstep. Even then, when he’d been recovering from Hydra, tense and wary and traumatized, it had been Bucky taking control, telling Steve what to do, telling Steve it was okay to want something, even if it was weird, even if it felt so shamefully dirty-hot-wrong it nearly undid him. 

Bucky has always taken care of Steve, always. Now, as Bucky’s weight ticks up and he settles into being really and truly fat, sometimes Steve gets a little thrill out of the way that now he gets to take care of Bucky, too, in tangible ways. He’ll take Bucky’s boots off, sometimes, loving the way it feels to get on his knees and unlace them so that Bucky doesn’t have to bend over his big gut. Steve gives him a hand sometimes when Bucky’s getting up, belly first, from the couch. Or, holy Jesus, when Bucky had sat down on the floor to play with Natasha’s new kitten the other day, his thick legs sprawled out, belly mounding forward into his lap. He’d let the kitten climb all over his huge tummy and knead its little claws into the weave of his sweater, mewing happily, and when Bucky had finally gone to get up, he’d cradled that tiny ball of fluff in his metal hand and held his flesh one out to Steve, big gray-blue eyes imploring. Steve had complied, breathless with arousal and an aching, overwhelming love as Bucky had heaved his big, overindulged supersoldier’s body up, huffing a little as he did. 

It had taken Steve’s breath away, too. 

Bucky lets Steve feed him what feels like an endless stream of cake, pausing sometimes for Steve to rub his belly, or for Bucky to pull Steve down for a few slow, lazy kisses, sticky sweet with frosting. By the time Bucky works his way through the first layer and a little bit of the second, Steve thinks he looks visibly fatter, belly round and taut under inches and inches of soft pudge. 

“No more, baby,” Bucky finally says, almost gasping. He hiccups twice, tummy bouncing each time. “Oof. C’mere, honey.” Bucky tugs the cake box out of Steve’s hands and sets it carelessly aside before pulling him closer, up into his arms, and _fuck_ , Steve will never, ever tire of having Bucky arrange Steve on his lap like a rag doll. 

Bucky moves Steve like he’s nothing, like he’s as light as he’d been before the war, and it’s a heady, wonderful reminder of Bucky’s strength. He’s still strong, incredibly so, even though his muscles are blurred with chub now, abs long-hidden under fat, ribs covered in thick rolls of blubber that Steve never tires of grabbing. Steve loves it, the way Bucky’s coiled strength is camouflaged by his overfed body. He loves Bucky’s power, the fact that he’s still frighteningly capable of destruction—but that he’s also just slightly vulnerable now, quicker to grow short of breath, his movements a little slower, now.

Fuck, it’s hot.

“Get the lube, honey, and get yourself ready,” Bucky says, not bothering to move at all, confident that Steve will happily do all the work necessary. 

Steve acquiesces immediately, shucking his jeans and tugging his shirt over his head, helping Bucky tug his own jeans down with minimal jostling of his fat, tender belly. 

“I love you,” he blurts as he climbs back into Bucky’s arms. 

*

“I know you do, sweetheart,” Bucky says, smiling a little as Steve clamors into his lap, shamelessly humping against the underside of his belly. “Love you too, baby. So fuckin’ much.” 

It’s true. Bucky can’t really put into words, or even coherent thoughts, how much he loves Steve. He just _does_ , like he breathes air and exists in the world. An unshakable truth. 

Steve rides him carefully, and Bucky knows it’s taking all of Steve’s restraint to keep from bouncing hard on his cock, fucking himself rough and slutty. He doesn’t, though, mindful of Bucky’s ridiculously overfull belly. 

Steve really does take care of him. Bucky likes to give him shit, but he does. 

“That’s so good, honey, you’re so good for me, just like that,” Bucky says, crooning low and sweet the way he knows Steve loves. “Gonna let you come so hard for me, baby, all over my belly like you want.” 

And he does.

*

Later, when they’re clean, and the sheets are changed, and the rest of the cake is tucked away in the fridge – so that Steve, inevitably, can drag it back into bed the next morning and get everything messy all over again – Bucky pulls Steve close to him, as close as they can get with Bucky’s belly between them. 

“Happy not-anniversary, Steve. Did you get what you wanted?”

Steve’s response is emphatic, and he snuggles even deeper against Bucky’s still-sore belly. “ _Yes_. Everything.”

Bucky nods, lips curling up in a smile that he knows Steve can’t see in the darkness. “Me too, honey.”


End file.
